Take Me Back
by ihearteverything33
Summary: Years after the Powerpuffs have separated and gone their own ways, Blossom, who has remained in Townsville the entire time, finally comes face-to-face with a certain someone she wishes to forget—one who has the capability of making her entire world crash and burn. And it's this certain someone who turns her entire life around.
1. Come Again, Old Friend

Life hadn't turned out as Blossom Utonium had expected.

Time had trickled by like running water, and the girls—herself included—slowly began drifting apart. Driftwood, you might call it. The trio, who had once been inseparable from each other as fishes were from the water, began discovering and innovating in their own directions. As soon as their senior year had flown past them on the spouting white wings of possibilities, each of the sisters had flung themselves into their separate goals, and that had been the end of it. Buttercup, always the more rambunctious and risky, had set her sights on high-flying places with opportunities—especially to do with sports and leisure—sprouting in every corner. Bubbles had, of course—and expectedly, nonetheless—whizzed herself to every bustling city with soaring economics as a plus, hoping to find the perfect spot in the society of art for herself. Blossom, however, had sensibly stayed in Townsville. After all, the vicinity always needed a guardian.

As mediocre as it seemed, the redhead hadn't led a completely humdrum life on the range either. She was completely satisfied with the quaint little town she called home, and every matter in her life was settled and perfect. Having an unnaturally high IQ really paid off—you could stay anywhere with a sturdy chance of settling.

Before anybody knew it, years had gone by, and Blossom wasn't the little, naïve girl everybody made her out to be anymore. The ginger was older now, and equally matured, and she had a fine life goal in mind. That was all you needed, right? To get by in life, happily?

Little did she know, her well-planned lifestyle was about to go entirely out of whack, and all because of a single complication.

* * *

><p>Blossom hastily brushed a few strands of stray hair out of her face as a steady breeze whipped up, curling the edges of her long, auburn locks. Wrapping the tips of her fingers around the device fitted snugly into her hand, a sigh escaped her lips seeing the screen light up. Upon acknowledging the new voice mail, her fingers moved automatically to punch in a quick reply. Her colleague's voice filtered through the sound panel on her phone immediately.<p>

_"Good morning, Blossom! I was wondering if, uh—if you were free—crrk—on Friday, two weeks from now? Sorry, my signal isn't too good, but—are you free on that day, seeing that it's Valentine's Day?"_

_Of course it has to be Valentine's Day_, Blossom mused bitterly, before swiping across her phone screen. Her reply came out apologetic, saying she had plans and that she was sorry. Of course she was sorry. Of course it had to be another invitation or old-fashioned love letter—the former, in this case. For some unknown reason, a niggling feeling gnawed away at her heart upon thinking about Valentine's Day. Promptly, her gaze dropped to the dull grey of the concrete slabs beneath her feet, and she forced down the hopeless longing that clawed at her throat. Her phone found its way into her thick coat pocket.

Longing to be part of a real family again.

Longing to be _whole_ again.

The redhead brushed her wayward bangs out of her eyes and pushed open the glass doors of her reception. As always, the front desk was empty. Spotless, even. With another sigh threatening to escape, Blossom prodded the 'Up' button and stepped into the nearest elevator as the doors filed open. While, the rushing feeling of flying upward greeted her, her rose irises searched for the ceiling of the elevator, and she puffed out her cheeks in waiting as the box came to a smooth stop.

The sight that greeted her when she paced out of the elevator was a pleasant surprise.

Large cardboard boxes lay piled atop one another in the landing, arranged messily, each filled to the brim with miscellaneous objects Blossom cared not to find out about. A few movers from the local moving company shuffled in and out of the open doorway located conveniently next to the Powerpuff's own abode. Dust clouds very visibly arose with every thump of battered cardboard, and she waved at the air in front of her face briskly in an attempt to keep the dust mites away. The air reeked of sweat.

Stepping over a misplaced soccer ball, curiosity got the best of her. "Excuse me," she ventured politely, and one of the workers' heads popped up in response. "Is somebody moving in?" Surprise was evident in her voice.

"'Morning, Miss Utonium," came the greeting. Blossom nodded her salutation. "You're right about that," the mover continued, straightening and wiping his brow. "Whew, it's real hot in Townsville."

"That's interesting," the redhead noted, "I didn't hear of this news beforehand."

"Don't worry, miss," the man replied with a casual wave of disinterest, "we heard it was impromptu too."

"Alright then," Blossom concluded with a smile, "thank you for your time. Have a great day." She barely had the time to take the man's offhand reply into account as she jammed the key into her immaculately clean lock and swung the door shut behind her with calculated measure.

Another shift over.

* * *

><p>It wasn't as if she wasn't busy, even if it <em>was<em> a Saturday and she was supposed to be relaxing. In reality, weekends seemed all the busier for the redhead as she stalked into the kitchen, her slippers shuffling against the linoleum tiles. Pulling open the fridge door, Blossom's world seemed to collapse a little as she took in the sight of the bare shelves within. She groaned involuntarily.

"And to the supermarket it is," she sighed, blinking, and closed the ajar door before returning to her living room, where her coat rack seemed to lie in wait for her to retrieve her article of clothing. Shrugging it on, she pocketed her set of keys and reached for her door handle. The movers acknowledged her politely on the way out, but she only managed a tired nod at them as she reentered the elevator.

The people in the supermarket were surprisingly scarce for a weekday, Blossom noted, shoving a cart down the refrigerated aisle. The red-tinted slabs of frozen meat glared back accusingly at her, and the redhead sighed in figurative response as she maneuvered her metal vehicle over to the side and reached down to inspect the prices on the glass shelves.

"Hey, Blossom!" someone beside the redhead voiced, and her rose pink eyes blinked. Straightening, she pivoted around to see her childhood best friend. _Only best friend now_, a tiny voice poked at her heart, and she felt a stab of a rather familiar emotion.

_Regret. Guilt._

"Robin!" she greeted cheerily enough, and the brunette seemed to believe her as she wrapped her arms enthusiastically around Blossom; she returned the embrace.

"Oh my _God,_ Blossom!" Robin gushed ebulliently, adding to her speech with overdramatic hand gestures, "You won't _believe_ what happened earlier in the week! I mean, you've been buried in your work all day long. You'll _never_ guess what happened..."

Blossom shook her head, but a smile played on her face. "Well, I'm sure another surprise today won't hurt."

"Okay, well," Robin trailed off, her eyes darting to and fro suspiciously, and she gripped her trolley's handle. Her violet irises glimmered as she spoke. "I heard that there's this new guy in town, and he's super hot—!"

"Um, not to be rude, Robin, but, if I remember correctly, you _are_ married, aren't you?" Blossom interjected uneasily. Said person waved her off offhandedly.

"Yeah, and Mike's a real sweetheart, but doesn't mean us girls can't have any other eye candy, right?" She nudged Blossom playfully with her elbow, and Blossom rolled her eyes, grinning amicably.

"Really?"

"Anyway, black hair, dreamy blue eyes—or were they green? And he's super tall! He's, uh—_well, _actually, come to think of it..." Robin trailed off, finger on her chin for emphasis as she searched her thoughts for what she was going to say. "Actually, Blossom," she cautioned, "come to think of it, he looks a lot like B—"

Blossom's face drained of color and she cut her friend short before she could go on further. "Um, no, that's okay," she rushed, dashing it off with another smile, "you don't have to continue that thought." Robin sighed heavily, eyes clouding with concern.

"Aw, Blossom, I'm sor—" she started, but Blossom regained her composure and inhaled deeply, before shooting her a cheerful look to let her know she was fine.

"No, that's alright, Robin. That was far too long ago for me to care about, right?" She began carting her trolley forward, and Robin stared after the redhead's retreating form.

"Maybe if you weren't so closed off about your emotions, you could've spared your feelings," the brunette admonished lowly with a disparaged sigh, before slowly making her way after her.

* * *

><p>Blossom's thoughts led her astray as she sauntered at an uncharacteristically slow pace down the pavement, enjoying the soft <em>clack<em> from her heels hitting the concrete. Two grocery bags dangled precariously from her fingertips, and she quickened her pace upon noticing the sun hanging bright in the blue canvas of sky above her.

_I still have an entire day left._

Lofty footsteps sounded behind her, but the redhead took no notice of them—they probably belonged to another stranger anyway. Blossom uneasily shifted both bags to the crook of her left arm while she smoothed out an unnoticeable crinkle in her clean white blouse, and the footsteps from afar gradually neared. It was at that exact moment that a voice she hadn't heard in a long time—albeit, a voice she had yet to miss—materialized from a few meters behind her, and the footsteps suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Unknowingly, Blossom's eyes widened, and she froze on the spot.

"_Blossom?"_ She stifled a rising, involuntary gasp, and all the words that had previously formulated in her mind began trickling away.

Ever so slowly, she turned her upper half backwards slightly, and swallowed the mass of emotion bubbling up in her throat. In front of her (technically, behind her, but what was the point anyway?), a few meters away, stood the very sight she had dreaded seeing for several empty years.

The Powerpuff sucked in a breath and struggled to maintain herself as she turned fully around, and took everything in.

_There he is._

Phone in hand, slouched over a tad, wild ebony locks, forest green eyes. Blossom's heart constricted painfully at the sight of him, and her breathing fluctuated unstably. She clutched at the plastic handles of the bags she was holding, as if she was grasping onto some leverage. As if that would work.

"Long time no see," she breathed resignedly, and she couldn't help but notice how his eyes looked like that of a deer caught in headlights—funny, that analogy.

She closed her eyes, hoping to shield herself away from the vision of _him_.

"... Butch."

* * *

><p><em>Hi everybody! I know I really don't have the right to talk to you guys now, seeing that I practically 'retired' from writing, but I happened upon a couple of PPG fanfics—namely, sbj's <span>More Than<span> Human__—and an idea suddenly popped back into my head. So... here I am. :)_

_This is dedicated to a-maze-ZINGfReAk2002._


	2. Let It Rain (Memories)

A pin-dropping silence ensued between the two, and Butch's hold on his phone loosened. The _clatter_ that sounded from the device's collision with the ash grey concrete broke the tension between the two, along with Blossom's concentration. She swallowed down another mouthful of words and looked away, failing to notice Butch's expression darken.

"Blossom," he enunciated with a newfound iciness, and said person was taken aback at his sharp change in tone. Even from her distance, Blossom could feel the intensity of his anger radiating off of him in frigid waves. Her grip on the plastic bag handle tightened as she bit her lip anxiously.

"I—"

Suddenly, before she could react, there came a blinding flash of green, and Blossom was slammed into the nearest brick wall at an unimaginable speed. Her head throbbed from the sudden assault, and she felt her breath being cut short. Butch's grip on her throat tightened, and she winced in pain. The redhead's hands found the brunet's forearm in an attempt to pry his palms away, but she found that her attempts were ineffective. Seems like he'd been training after he left Townsville...

"Butch," she gasped, eyes wide and frantic. Gazing into his, she found only menace and hate reflected back in his irises, and she choked up tears. For once, she wasn't sure if the liquid threatening to spill out of her eyes was from her shortage of oxygen or from the painful memories that arose whenever she looked at the person in front of her. "What—"

Unrelenting, he growled, "You have no right to call me that."

Blossom loosened her hold on his wrist, despite the fact that her life was hanging by a thread, and barely coughed out, "You're... You're right."

Abruptly, she felt the merciless pressure on her trachea leave, and she collapsed against the wall, struggling to stay upright. She launched into a coughing fit, eyes watering, and felt Butch's intensifying gaze bore holes into her back. Holding up a hand to steady herself against the brick, Blossom gradually found the courage to look back up at him. He had taken a step back, and was instead regarding her with wary curiosity.

"Why," he began suspiciously, "didn't you fight back, Blossom? What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was deep.

The latter swallowed with difficulty, and finally found her words. "No," she coughed, breathless, "I can't. I—I can't use Chemical X."

A moment of silence passed between the two, and Butch ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

"Fuck." He dragged his hands down his face, and it was then that Blossom noticed the dark circles that had formed under his eyelids. She remained silent, and glanced at the floor. Behind him, her groceries had been scattered all over the floor in the sudden attack. "Fuck," he repeated, "I knew it. Of course you wouldn't..."

"Butch," Blossom murmured, voice unnaturally small, "what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" His voice had a rough edge to it now, and Blossom didn't fail to overlook it. Even the same small details that made him _him_... She remembered it all clear as day. She straightened and brushed down her skirt, and knelt to gather her fallen groceries, when suddenly a hand stopped on her own. She glanced up to see Butch staring straight at her, his orbs both piercing, bright, yet unreadable.

"Tell me. What do you mean?" he enunciated, and Blossom sighed.

She sat back on her heels, the warmth from his hand pulsing through her like a shock wave. She pushed the feelings aside. "Because," she swallowed, nervously, "you aren't supposed to be here. You left for good all those years ago." Emotions welled up inside of her, and she struggling to keep her feelings at bay, distracting herself by collecting the items on the ground.

Standing up, with all gathered contents back in their rightful place, Blossom started again, "We never met."

"What?" Butch was caught off guard by her sudden speech.

"We never met," the redhead repeated, brushing her bangs aside. She shifted her handbag, and began shakily walking away. "It's all for the best."

Butch gazed after her with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and released a collected sigh. "Yeah." He watched until she had walked out of view before he blew a strand of stray charcoal hair aside and hurtled off into the sky in a flash of blinding green. He didn't look back down at the ground.

* * *

><p>The elevator door slid shut, and Blossom, her back against the walls of the enclosed space, sank against the glass. Running her hands through her hair, she buried her face in her hands as an unkempt sob forced its way up her throat. Her rose-colored irises fought against the tears that stung at the back of her eyes, and she inhaled a long, shuddering breath to even out her breathing.<p>

Butch.

How long had it been since she'd last seen him? That would have to be high school, wouldn't it? Now those were some memories that she sure didn't want to bring back. What a waste.

There came a disrupting _ding!_ as the elevator stopped at her floor, and Blossom stepped out. As if fate was playing a cruel trick on her, there came yet another uncanny _ding!_ as the elevator across from the one she'd just exited also arrived at its destination, and soft padding footsteps came from behind her. They paused again.

"Wow," the all-too-familiar voice drawled, "what the hell."

Blossom, who had formerly been inserting the her keys into the lock, paused, her heart filling with an incorrigible dread. Bracing herself, she pivoted around with a sweet smile. "Butch," she greeted, as if she hadn't met him less than ten minutes ago, "fancy seeing you here."

"Cut the crap, pinky." She recoiled at the abrasive way he spat out her nickname, and her smile faltered ever so slightly. Butch's hands were stuffed deep in his pockets. "What the hell're you doing here?"

"Oh, so you're not going to slam me into my door and wait until I get a concussion this time, are you?" Her pink irises frowned defiantly at the figure in front of her. "If you haven't noticed by now, I live here."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Butch massaged his temples in frustration. "I can't be your freaking next-door neighbor now, can I? What a life."

"Language," Blossom snapped, before softening. "Look, I know why you're mad—"

"Good," he interrupted hastily. "All the more reason for me not to talk to you."

"Butch—"

"No," he growled fiercely, and Blossom took a step back so she was flat against the door. Subconsciously, he took a step forward. "No. Blossom Utonium, I'll tell you this: you are a time bomb, and to me, any memory of what _we_ once were is dead. Your time's already up. I'm done. I'm fucking done." He looked away with a glare and strode towards his own door, jamming the key in and wrenching it open and closed after him like it had wronged him. The slam resounded through the empty hall.

Blossom, stunned, covered her mouth with her hand and rushed through her own door, unknowingly leaving a bright pink trail of light in her wake.

* * *

><p><em>It was January, and the crisp snow made the school a winter wonderland. Blossom had just called a dismissal to the student council meeting, and watched blissfully as the last of the officers filed out of the room, chatting mindlessly about events to come. With a satisfied sigh, she began assorting her papers into her folder.<em>

_A sudden series of rapping on the door brought her to attention, and she glanced up to see the principal, Ms. Keane, poking her head through the doorway. Immediately, the redhead leapt up out of her seat and rushed over to the door._

_"Good afternoon, Ms. Keane," she greeted politely, and said teacher nodded at her in salutation._

_"Good afternoon, Blossom. Have you just finished your meeting?" she returned, and upon seeing Blossom's affirmative nod, she continued. "Well, I have a favor to ask of you, if you don't mind." Another nod. "Well," she began, a slight hint to her voice, and herded a certain Rowdyruff into the room and through the doorway, "Butch needs to help around the school to compensate for the fight from the other day. Would you mind monitoring him for the next week or two while he does? And don't worry, it's only afterschool. Can you manage?"_

_Blossom let out a slightly uneasy chuckle, but offered her teacher a graceful smile. "Of course, Ms. Keane, I'd be glad to."_

_"Thank you ever so much, Blossom," Ms. Keane gushed gratefully. "I have no idea what this school would do without you. Anyway, I'll be down in my office. If anything gets out of control, you know what to do."_

_Butch huffed. _"I have no idea what this school would do without you, Blossom,"_ he mimicked in a high-pitched tone, groaning. _"You're such a teacher's pet, Blossom."

_Blossom eyed him warily. "Why don't you make the job easier for both of us and get cleaning?" she deadpanned, crossing her arms and closing the door._

_Butch winked at her suggestively. "Sure thing, Blossom."_

* * *

><p>She had figured that a cup of tea would soothe her frayed nerves, but it turned out that she hadn't been dead wrong. Blossom crumpled against the sofa submissively, the snowy white mug in hand, and fiddled aimlessly with the dangling square of string hanging over the edge of the object in her hands. Reaching over towards the coffee table in search of a novel to read, the redhead's hand paused when her fingertips brushed lightly against a rough, leather cover. She didn't remember having a leather hardback...<p>

The Powerpuff tugged gently, and as the mystery book escaped the pile of intellectuality, she sucked in a stunned breath when she set down the steaming cup and noticed the title scrawled onto the cover in chicken-scratch.

_High School Years._

Blossom clutched the cup and sipped as she flipped open the solid black cover, and the tingle of familiarity she felt upon contact with the leather sent shivers up her spine. How long had it been since she'd last seen this? Sure, she'd been _busy _for quite a while now, but it wasn't as if she hadn't ventured around her own house for a while; it was her own property, after all...

A wave of regret washed over her as she noticed a large, page-sized photo in full color of her and her sisters—a much younger Bubbles had been taking a photo with her phone at that time, a cheeky grin plastered on her face as she fake-gasped and pointed to an equally aged Buttercup, who was a little ways behind her and was animatedly arguing with a few of her friends. A basketball was clutched underneath the brunette's arm, and she had been yelling at Mitch, poking her finger into his chest while Mike and Robin stood next to them in a circle, laughing awkwardly at the camera. In the background, Blossom stood, back to the camera, with her face turned towards the screen in mild surprise. She smiled sadly at the sight of everybody's grinning faces. Underneath the photo, in Bubbles' curly handwriting, was the caption, _"First day! I'm too excited! Buttercup has a bad temper."_

Following the larger photos came pages more, each side with two panoramas taped with homemade care and with golden captions littering the bottoms and Bubbles' mindless doodles on the borders and corners. As Blossom continued flipping, faster and faster with each passing moment, her entire high school life had been summed up, and replayed in her mind like a spinning wheel's perpetual release of thread. The sentences scrawled on ranged from "_Blossom never writes anything"_ to "_Oh my God Boomer asked me out!"—_although that came much later.

Blossom slammed the cover shut, breathing heavily, when the last picture in the album poked out of the paper and slid smoothly into her lap. Cautiously, she reopened the last section, only to find that the entries had been cut off suddenly, as if someone had lost heart in memoranda altogether. A few more empty sheets lingered in the back, but the Powerpuff turned to the last existing entry and picked up the fallen photo. Tape hung loosely on the paper.

Featured in it was none other than herself, looking naturally pretty and very much shocked at the wily cameraman.

And Butch.

With one arm cradling her close in a rather protective manner, and the other holding a pile of her own folders and books.

* * *

><p><em>The rest of the week had gone fairly smoothly, despite Butch making licentious remarks about Blossom every time he came afterschool to fulfill his community service punishment. In all honesty? He was unbearable. All the while, they only managed to make small talk while he grudgingly worked his duties, but they had been gradually making progress.<em>

_It was Friday afternoon, and the sky outside the window was cloudy and a dull grey. Blossom frowned through the glass, when Butch's voice suddenly filtered through her thoughts._

_"So, Blossy," he began with another impromptu nickname, "what's with your staring?"_

_Said person sighed, and swiveled back towards the brunet, who was currently stacking chairs atop their respective desks, looking bored out of his mind; the redhead had prohibited his use of his superpowers—that would just defeat the purpose of _helping_, right?_

_"Nothing," she mumbled, glancing back out the window, although she knew he could hear whatever she said clear as day, "just the weather." She shifted her attention back at the raven-haired teen in front of her, who was rubbing his hands together. "Are you done?"_

_"Mhm," he grunted._

_"Alright, then," she admitted, surveying the room. The cleanliness struck her as comical, but she said nothing. Funny that someone like _Butch _would... yeah. Yet, the Ruff refused to budge, and instead crossed his arms over his chest in wait. Blossom blinked at him. "Aren't you going to visit Buttercup?" she inquired politely, confused._

_"Hell no," he broke out into a chortle, and Blossom sighed. "She's pissy as fuck."_

_"Language!" the Puff reprimanded automatically, and he winked at her coyly. "And watch it. This is my sister you're talking about."_

_"Sorry, Bloss," he stuck his tongue out, but dropped the flirtatious tone. "You?"_

_"Oh, actually," Blossom replied, and reached over to the nearest table, where she'd stacked a towering pile of thick novels and dictionaries, "I have to take these to the library, so I'll have to lock up now." She shooed Butch out of the classroom and clicked the doorknob's lock into place, before stopping to prevent the books from toppling over. The green-eyed Ruff steadied her._

_"Uh, you need help?" he offered with a sheepish grin, and when Blossom opened her mouth to object, he quickly interjected, "No, really."_

* * *

><p>The redhead knew that she should've left well enough alone, but the memories and photos haunted her mercilessly. As she gulped, standing in front of a moss green door, she immediately regretted her rash decision of coming out of her comfy apartment. She imagined her tea gradually running cold, and shivered. Back to another cold and empty apartment again.<p>

She raised her curled fist to knock, but hesitated. Blossom knew she looked like an idiot standing there with a raised, immobile hand, but she also knew that only the person on the other side of the door could make her feel this way.

_Just knock the door._

_Get it over with._

Instead, she lowered her arm, released a long, deep sigh, and sank towards the ground, her back pressed against the smooth plywood.

* * *

><p>Little did she know, only a slab of wood away, Butch had long since heard her coming. He'd been intently tuned in on her prim and proper footsteps, and the faint beating of her heart reverberating in the marble hallway. Chemical X had its perks.<p>

He'd missed her, no doubt. Butch Jojo missed Blossom Utonium, _wanted_ her, _desired _her, with every burning fiber of his being.

And he knew he could never have her, especially not after she'd reentered his life back in the day like the flaming supernova she was. He'd always had a mask and castle walls built around him, fortifying him, lest something should happen to the only loved ones he had in his life; Butch wasn't as shallow and boorish as everybody had made him out to be. Yet, when he and his brothers had returned to Townsville, the beautiful redhead next door had sneakily tiptoed her way into his heart (and life), sneakily pried off his mask like a daring thief, and had made away with it, refusing to give it back. As if she'd been given a great opportunity, she'd also taken the time to snatch away his heart and peel off his emotions, only to rip it up and step all over the remains like confetti.

Even so, he'd let her get away with it. That's how much he loved her, and he feared that she would never know.

The charcoal-haired Ruff, who had found himself a comfortable spot leaning against his front door like he was fortifying his walls again, heard Blossom exhale a lovely sigh, and proceed to slide down his door. Perplexed, he nudged his eyes towards the little circle of light showering through the peephole, and saw her exotic red hair. He wished to see no more.

_Just open the door. __You know you miss her._

_Get it over with._

He didn't budge.

Again, he was reminded that he would never 'get the girl.'

* * *

><p><em>Hey guys! Happy (early) Thanksgiving! I know my writing is pretty messed up and has steadily declined over the years, but I still hope you enjoy this chapter.<em>

_Please remember that there'll be a lot of future profanities to come, because Butch happens to be the lucky owner of a potty mouth._


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